Bird Gehrl
by SashaDaae
Summary: The Daroga has requested a meeting with Christine de Chagny. When she arrives at his flat, however, she is forced to face memories she would rather never recall again.


I own nothing, of course. Includes the song, which is by Antony and the Johnsons.

__

_I am a bird girl now _

My hands are cold. My fingers are cold, my legs are cold, my ears are cold. I'm cold all over, despite my warm coat. I pull it around me tighter, walking faster.

I despise winter. I hate it for its snow and how it transforms the road into a danger. It is overcast and gloomy. Even Paris seems subdued and quiet, rather than its bustling beauty it usually is.

Winter brings up painful memories. I prefer Spring; it was when Raoul and I married. May, in fact….or was it April? I suppose it doesn't really matter. Neither of us remember. The romance is still there, so what does it really matter?

I've arrived at an adorable little flat; it is quite small, of course, but practical for the person who resides within. I halt, suddenly unsure of myself. What am I doing here? I have no good reason, really. It's a visit; not formal, but not leisurely either. I'm not sure what it is. The invitation certainly revealed nothing. My hand trembles (either from the bitter cold or anxiety, which it is I do not know) as I raise my hand to knock.

I am led into the flat by a tall dark man in a suit. He does not speak- in fact he barely acknowledges me! I purse my lips as I follow him into what looks to be a quaint little living room. He instructs me to sit and points to a small cup of tea. I gasp when I look into the tiny cup and see a flower blooming in the middle of the greenish liquid.

_I've got my heart _

_Here in my hands now _

"It's flowering tea, from China. Jasmine, in fact. Beautiful, is it not?" says a richly accented voice from behind. I twist my neck around and see him there- the Persian. He is smiling a strange smile; a twisting of the lips that is neither happy nor sarcastic.

"Lovely. I have never seen anything like it, monsieur." I respond as he comes to sit in front of me. "Quite exotic. We have nothing like this at home."

His elbows lean on his knees and he gazes at me for such a long time that I must look away and back at the flower. There is something about him that is extremely unnerving about his gaze. Or perhaps I believe that because of the man I always associate him with?

I don't like it. I take a small sip.

"I cannot imagine why he fell in love with you."

My head snaps up, my eyes widen. "Pardon?" I gasp, although I know fully well what he just said.

"You are different, Christine Daae. Once you married that little vicomte, you have become like a spoiled child. Always expecting the best. Have you forgotten what happened at the Opera house but two years ago?"

_I've been searching _

_For my wings some time _

"O-of course not!" I stammer. His blow is totally unexpected; in fact, I'm quite offended! A spoiled child? What an accusation, I am a grown and married woman! "I'm not sure how you could have come to such a conclusion, Daroga."

He laughs quietly. "Madame, you forget that I was in law enforcement. I can read people very well. Even those who hide behind a façade." He says this last sentence sadly, and I am struck suddenly by guilt.

I had inadvertently killed his greatest friend.

The flower in my tea no longer seems so lovely. Rather, it looks like it has wilted. I take a sip anyway and lick my lower lip.

"You know he thought you would return while he was dying?" he murmurs, his eyes never leaving my face. "He was so sure of it…and you never did. Now he's buried, Miss Daae."

Daroga's inclusion of Daae is deliberate, I know it. I have no response. And I am startled by the fact that I feel as if I am about to cry.

_I'm gonna be born _

_Into soon the sky _

"Dead and gone for two years, and you cannot let it alone, can you, Daroga?" I whisper dangerously. "Perhaps I do not want to think of him. Perhaps I do not want to dwell on the past. I have a son, Daroga, and a husband and more important matters than what happened two years ago."

"You cannot bear to face you demons, can you, Christine?" he laughs, leaning back into the Oriental couch. "You are a child! I called you hear, hoping to speak of him, to give you something, and rather you accuse me of playing the Devil's friend?"

_'Cause I'm a bird girl _

_And the bird girls go to heaven _

I stand up abruptly. "You have no idea!" I cry. "You do not know how much I have suffered, how many nightmares I have had, you do not get the same looks as I in the streets!"

"I do have an idea, Daae." He growls. "You do not realize what your actions bring on, child. Will your son be a musician? Or will he be in politics and the social life as is expected of him, as the son of a de Chagny? Tell me, Daae, do you really have any grip on reality?" The Daroga is also fuming and his dark eyes are shining.

My breathing is hard, and I finally throw the tea onto his carpet, watching the fine cup shatter, the liquid splay and form into shapes, the flower crushed.

_I'm a bird girl _

_And the bird girls can fly _

"Why do you torment me, you infernal, disgusting bastard?" I have lost my mind! How dare he, how dare he say these words to me? I know better, I have always known better.

"You don't know better." His voice hitches as I scream at him, hurling insults just as I once did to his greatest friend.

His friend, who I killed.

I hate them both. I tell him so as I run away from his stupid little flat, the poor flat, the ugly flat.

My last view of the Daroga is him on his knees, cradling the flower gently in his hand.

_Bird girls can fly_


End file.
